I don’t live here nor have I ever lived in these parts. Yet, somehow, as my family makes our annual pilgrimage back to this small corner of south Georgia, my heart feels like I’m coming home. Perhaps its the 50 plus years of returning to the same place, the same time.
Every. Single. Summer.
It is the place of my heritage. My mother was born here. I recognize the 2-story house on Love Street. My grandparents were born in the area as well. They met, fell in love, married and started their family here. So many stories retold year after year.
- This is where your Grandmother worked when she was a telephone operator.
- This is where Granddaddy’s family had a grocery store.
- This is where we lived when I was a little girl.
Driving over slight green hills, through Georgia farmland dotted with quaint, 19th century wood-frame homes and dilapidated old barns, barely standing, a calmness comes to rest in my soul.
Home. This is where my people came from. A piece of my heart resides here.
I wonder if any of my cousins feel the same.
There is another place that holds a large piece of my heart. I don’t live there yet, but I will. It is Heaven (literally). My hometown is pleasant and I love the beach, the mountains and Scotland. There are bits of my heart in Birmingham and Nashville, where my grown-up offspring live. I even have an affinity for south Georgia (despite the heat and gnats).
But, I know in the depths of my soul that none of these places are truly home for me. One day I will wake up in a place that is being prepared for me and I will experience a familiar feeling.
Home. This is home.
In my Father’s house are many homes. If it weren’t so, I would have told you. I am going to prepare a place for you. If I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again, and will receive you to myself; that where I am, you may be there also.
I hope to see you there too!